


Yes ma'am

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Praise Kink, authority kink, dom queen angella, sub adora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 21:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16920585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “Kneel, Adora.”She goes to her knees without hesitation for that expression, that voice, this superior. Before, Queen Angella had been sitting on her throne and Adora had been standing at attention. Now, she has to look up. Her heart is hammering.





	Yes ma'am

There had always been a certain fear when it came to interacting with superior officers in the Fear Zone, _especially_ Shadow Weaver and Hordak. Adora had thought that that was just the way it was with super officers, but now she’s watching Queen Angella give orders to guards who snap off salutes with crisp efficient movements and respect in their eyes, and then march off with dignity instead of hurrying away like there’s something with sharp teeth nipping at their heels, pale and sweaty with a risky brush with their ruler.

Queen Angella is an effective and respected leader, yet she doesn’t rule with threats and fear. She’s just that good. Better than Shadow Weaver. Better than Hordak. Better than anyone Adora’s ever obeyed.

She’s never wanted to impress someone more.

There is not a gruesome punishment looming if she fails, if she disappoints. Glimmer would never allow it, and despite how strict Queen Angella is, she clearly loves her daughter (and Adora is happy for her and jealous that she didn’t get the same and maybe it’s okay to feel both of those things so long as it’s quietly inside of herself) and would never break her heart that way. And maybe. Maybe. Probably. Perhaps. Perhaps Queen Angella wouldn’t hurt Adora anyways, even if she wasn’t Glimmer’s friend, even if she’s from the Horde, maybe even if she wasn’t She-ra. Because she’s a good person. A person that Adora can be unreservedly _proud_ to serve. She’s never had that before, not really.

There is no threat, and yet still every fiber of her being yearns to make this woman smile with pride at her. Her life and career are not on the line. She just _wants._

It is allowed to want things just for yourself, in the rebellion. To not just live and breathe the war, violence, rising in the ranks. The Horde looms, but friendship is encouraged, music, art, laughter, relaxation, festivals and hot springs and love.

Adora would have died for the Horde, going out in blood and pride and glory, and she’d do the same for the rebellion, but she’d be _sad._ She wouldn’t want to. She wants to live for the rebellion, to see the rebellion, to be surrounded by it. She loves it so much it hurts. It makes her happy. She hadn’t realized how little she felt happy, back then. Just duty.

“You look deep in thought,” Queen Angella comments, and Adora sharply inhales, lifts her chin, squares her shoulders as her spine goes straight (straighter). She’d gotten lost in her head.

After a moment of silence and quick heartbeats, she stops looking straight ahead of herself, and her gaze drifts to the queen. She’s looking at Adora. There’s a furrow in her brow. She doesn’t look angry, but thoughtful.

Right, Adora thinks, remembers. She’d just been thinking about this. Queen Angella isn’t as cruel as Shadow Weaver. Adora isn’t going to be violently punished for not paying attention for a second, especially considering that she wasn’t even being addressed.

She feels so _rude,_ though.

Queen Angella raises her fine brows a fraction, expectantly. Adora realizes with horror that she’s been waiting for her to respond.

“I!” she says frantically, scrabbles to remember what the question even was, oh god what if Queen Angella has to _repeat herself_ to her? “Uh, I, yes. I was lost in thought, ma’am. Uh, your majesty. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” she says, still looking at her. Queen Angella is not scary or cruel. She’s strict, but kind. A fair leader. There is no reason to be nervous or intimidated. Adora is still nervous and intimidated. “Daydreaming while waiting in line isn’t a crime, Adora.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says. “Thank you, ma’am. I mean--”

“Ma’am is fine. I know you mean it with the utmost respect.” A small, fleeting smile, but still achingly genuine and generous. Adora’s heart beats, hard. “What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?”

“I was wondering,” she says, mouth dry, forging on because faltering makes it worse, “if you would sanction a mission for me, Bow, and Glimmer, ma’am.”

The queen’s expression, while never exactly having been playful before, grows more serious. “And what would the details of this mission be?”

“I think it would be for the best to travel to Princess Frosta’s kingdom and try and formalize her tie to princess alliance. She was a big help in the fight, and we’ll need all the help we can get more than ever now.”

She does not think about Catra.

Queen Angella’s face goes thoughtful, her fine features frowning as she puts a hand to her chin. “Just a diplomatic mission,” she confirms.

“Yes, ma’am.” Still protective over Glimmer. Trying to be better, but a part of her still clearly worries. It’s not a bad thing.

“And do you promise to look after my daughter, Adora?” she asks, looking at her. Adora feels laid bare before her when subjected to that gaze.

“Of course,” she says, with every inch of sincerity in her heart. She’d do anything for her friends. Anything for her queen.

 _Her queen._ Her face is going warm.

A pause, and then, “Adora.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

The queen’s gaze is inescapable before her. It just makes her feel warmer. “Come closer.”

She does.

“Closer.”

She does. She’s standing close enough to see Queen Angella’s individual eyelashes now. It’s an inappropriate distance between a leader and their subordinate.

She’s so beautiful. It’s hard to think about anything else when she’s so close the queen’s face.

“... Good luck on your mission,” she says, and Adora startles again, realizing she’d gotten distracted by the queen’s face while standing _less than a foot_ away from her. She _must_ have noticed. Her face is burning.

It takes her another moment to realize that that was her kind but firm way of saying ‘dismissed’. God, she feels slow around her.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” she says, snapping off a salute before pivoting on her heel and marching out of the room before she can make a fool of herself again.

If she’d dared look over her shoulder as she left, she would’ve seen the queen watching her thoughtfully as she left.

 

The mission gets out of hand. There’s the Horde, a fight, near death experiences, but at the end of the day they’re all alive and together and Frosta is assuring them that she would be honored to officially join the Princess Alliance, especially after the vital help they supplied her with in protecting her kingdom.

Adora shakes her small, cold hand, Glimmer clutches at the signed scroll like it’s a treasure, and Bow woops. They’re in high spirits all the long way home, high off of victory and survival and the giddy after effects of adrenaline.

“Mom, look!” Glimmer crows, shoving the scroll with Frosta’s signature on it into her face. She leans away, glances at it, and then does a double take once her gaze lands on _them._

They do not look pristine.

“A diplomatic mission, was it?” she asks dryly.

At least she doesn’t look mad. It looks like she’s getting used to them showing up grinning and bloody after every single mission they take, no matter how innocent their intentions at the start.

“Mom, we did it!”

“I see that, Glimmer. Well done, darling.”

Glimmer laughs and teleports between Bow and Adora in a shower of light and glitter. She throws her arms over their shoulders, pulling them down. Adora smiles and slips a hand around her waist along with Bow.

“We’re so great!”

“Best friend squad for life!” Bow concurs.

“Yeah,” she says, not nearly as boisterous as the two of them, but just as sincere. She leans into Glimmer’s side and closes her eyes and smiles. No tragedies. A nice and clean victory hard fought for, alive and happy with her friends, reporting their success to her queen.

Her queen. Adora’s eyes open and she looks at the queen in question.

Her expression is heart stoppingly soft and fond as she looks at them.

“I’m beat,” Bow says, and Adora snaps out of it, finally remembering to breathe. She can’t quite tear her eyes aways from Queen Angella yet, though.

Glimmer stretches, cracking her back with a yawn. “Oh man, yeah. Sleepover?”

“I would like for someone to remain so I can further question them,” Queen Angella says, looking right at Adora. “Learn all of the details.”

“Moooom, it’s _so_ late. Tomorrow?”

“I’m not tired,” Adora says, and it’s the truth. Her skin feels hot and tingly. She can’t imagine falling asleep. “I was She-ra all of the time, after all.”

“You sure?” Bow asks.

“I’m sure.”

Queen Angella smiles at her, and there’s a giddy feeling in her chest at realizing that she made the right decision.

“Goodnight Glimmer, Bow,” Queen Angella says. “I won’t keep your friend up too long.”

“Alright,” Glimmer says, and she and Bow bids them goodnight and they leave, the door closing behind them. Adora realizes that there isn’t anyone else in the room. Not even guards.

There’s no good reason for the heat that starts up low in her belly at that.

“Adora,” Queen Angella says, and Adora’s posture is perfect, perfect, perfect and she isn’t going to get lost in thought (about her) or get distracted (looking at her). She’s going to be good for her queen. (Heat in her belly.) “Come closer.”

She comes closer. She doesn’t need prompting to walk until she breaches the queen’s personal space this time.

“You came back with zero casualties and mission success,” she says. “You did a good job.”

Adora’s breathing does something unsteady at that. The praise-- close enough to smell the queen’s sweet, subtle perfume-- it’s a devastating combination she doesn’t know how to resist.

The queen’s keen gaze makes her doubt she missed even the slightest tremor.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she says, dry mouthed. “It was a pleasure-- I mean, my honor-- uh, _duty--”_

Before, the queen’s expression had been considering, thoughtful, scrutinizing. A master tactician scanning their maps and contemplating the possibilities. Now it resolves into something determined, decisive. Strategy chosen, committed to.

“Kneel, Adora.”

She goes to her knees without hesitation for that expression, that voice, this superior. Before, Queen Angella had been sitting on her throne and Adora had been standing at attention. Now, she has to look up. Her heart is hammering.

The queen, with the smooth confidence of the strong, reaches out and takes hold of the side of Adora’s face. Her hand is cool and soft, long, slim fingers gripping her firmly. The touch is intimate, possessive. No one touches her face like that. Her heart is in her throat, her eyes glued to the queen’s face. She hopes she doesn’t stop touching her like this soon. Ever.

“You’re the best kind of soldier,” Queen Angella says matter of factly. “Loyal to your ideals. So long as I don’t falter in my moral standing, you won’t ever leave me. You’re not a thoughtless sycophant. You won’t obey me or follow and support me if I go down the wrong path, insisting that it’s the right one just because I’m walking it.”

The hand holding her face strokes it, firm and hard and dragging and so good. She melts into it without even thinking about it, eyes closing, breath shuddering out of her hard. God. She-- she thinks she’s a good soldier. She thinks it’s _good_ that she’d be willing to leave if she felt she had to. Her betrayal doesn’t just make her a traitor in her eyes, a risk. It makes her a person with ideals. It feels like there’s something soft and vulnerable that opens up in her chest at that, fragile. Leaving the Horde had been so hard, had half felt like a terrible mistake even as she’d shouted her reasons at Catra over the noise of gunfire.

Being told she made the right choice is reassuring to the marrow of her bones. Being told she made the right choice by someone like _Queen Angella_ feels as calming as stepping into a hot bath.

“Be good for me,” she says. “Follow orders.”

 _“Yes,_ ma’am,” slips out of her, as reflexive as blinking, except she’s never said those words with that tone of voice before. Something desperate, something like a prayer, a gasp.

Queen Angella’s wearing something different from her usual today. A dress, skirt long and trailing, neckline modest and dignified, the color of it just a shade off from her hair. It’s elegant and beautiful, perfectly fitting its owner. Adora’s attention snaps to the silky fall of it when the queen subtly spreads her legs, shifting the fabric with the small movement. It isn’t a twitch though, nothing as impulsive and thoughtless as fidgeting. It’s slow and deliberate.

“Lift my skirt,” she orders.

It’s a good thing that Adora’s already kneeling, because she needs to steady herself when the words actually sink in. Unfortunately, the closest thing to steady herself against is the queen, her hands falling on her thighs. Presumptuous, inappropriate, insubordinate, offensive--

The queen _wants_ for her to touch her. To-- lift her skirts. Is ordering her to. That makes wanting this, doing this… okay. _Allowed._

Her fingers clutches at the skirts. The dress is as silky smooth as it looked. Her mind is spinning and her blood is hot and she’s suddenly not so sure that she isn’t dreaming except that she feels everything around her deeply, acutely, intensely. The feel of the silk, the smell of the perfume, the warmth of the queen’s skin through her dress, the sound of her own hammering heart. The queen’s waiting, inscrutable gaze.

Adora realizes that she could stand up and walk out of the room and she wouldn’t be punished in the slightest. For blatantly disobeying direct orders. The queen would let her do it.

She can’t imagine anything worse right in this moment than standing up and walking away from the close, tender space between the queen’s legs that she’d fallen into in her shock. She never wants to leave. She never will. Not until Queen Angella tells her to. She’ll stay for as long as she’s wanted, because she’ll never not want to be here.

“... Yes, ma’am,” she says after a long moment as the world reorders itself into a place in which Queen Angela wants her in between her legs in her mind. It’s a good world.

Something in Queen Angella softens at Adora’s yes, the line of her mouth, her neck, her eyes, her spine. Her hand is stroking Adora’s hair now. It’s embarrassing how good it feels. It’s thrilling to see her like this, to know that it’s because of _her._

Adora lifts the queen’s skirts. Her hands glide slowly up her legs, lingering, indulging. She’s wearing stockings underneath, silky smooth and cool. The skirts bunch up along her wrists and arms until finally she tucks into the queen’s sides, small piles of smooth silk and puffy taffeta.

Her underwear is dark pink and so pretty that Adora is suddenly hit with the realization that this was _incredibly_ premeditated. The queen isn’t impulsive or reckless, thinks things carefully through before she goes through with something but-- Adora hadn’t really _thought_ about it until now. Weighing the pros and cons while Adora was away for _days,_ maybe even weeks, considering her approach, wondering just how much Adora wants her, thinking about how much _she_ wants _Adora,_ how likely it was to go well if she said or did this or that, if the risk of failure was worth it.

She’d decided that Adora was worth it. She’s so happy she feels overwhelmed by it, a container that’s spilling over, a little bit dizzy, a little bit short of breath. She hooks her thumbs into the queen’s underwear. Looks up at her, so close and on her knees. The queen’s eyes are dark and fixed on Adora. She’s breathing careful, measured, conscious inhales and exhales. The rise and fall of her chest is suddenly tantalizing. The shine of her hair, the sweep of her lashes, the flush slowly appearing on her cheeks. Oh, god.

“May I, ma’am?” she asks, feeling brave and heady with it, like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff and daring the wind to push her over.

“You may,” she says. She’s composed, but there’s a different quality to her voice now. Heated. It makes Adora lick her lips on instinct. Queen Angella threads her fingers into Adora’s hair in response. It’s tight, just from Adora’s hair being in her high ponytail. Her nails are longer than Adora’s, more pretty than practical, and the hard points of them dig in _just_ right into her scalp.

She takes off her underwear. Queen Angella digs her heels into the floor and presses her back into the throne as she lifts herself just enough inches for Adora to slide them off. She slips them off one foot. Her heels are still on, as are her stockings. Her skirts are just bunched up around her lap, her underwear off, revealing herself. She’s smooth and bare underneath. Somehow, how perfectly composed and proper she looks everywhere else but where’s she’s revealed makes the whole picture infinitely more obscene than if she were fully naked.

Adora stares, and then her eyes dart up to the queen’s face because it somehow feels _rude_ to stare. She holds the underwear tightly in one fist, a little helplessly. It seems inappropriate to toss the queen’s underwear onto the floor. She ends up tucking it into her pocket for lack of anywhere better to put it.

“Adora,” the queen says. She tugs at her grip on Adora’s hair, pulling her in.

“Yes,” she says quietly, and lets the queen pull her in. Her face brushes the queen’s thighs as she comes in close, and she shivers, has to stop to nuzzle it. It’s warm and soft. The queen’s hand twitches a bit in her hair. Composure cracking. She pulls harder. Adora gives in with a small moan and suddenly there she is, mouth pressed up against Queen Angella’s cunt. She licks it, and it’s warm and slick. The queen lets out a shuddering breath, her thighs twitching around Adora’s head.

“More,” she orders, still pulling, and Adora moves until she’s even farther in between her legs, kisses at her warmth sloppily until slickness covers her entire mouth and then some. These are good orders. These are wonderful orders. She’ll happily follow them, follow them forever, follow them to perfection. _“More.”_

How, she wonders for a moment, and then her hands go underneath Queen Angella’s thighs and she hoists the woman up a bit until her legs are thrown over Adora’s shoulders. Queen Angella gasps deliciously as Adora’s fingers dig into the soft then firm flesh and muscle of her waist and ass and hips and thigh, searching for the best possible leverage. Queen Angella can’t seem to decide the optimal place to put her hands; the armrests, Adora’s head, her shoulders, her arms, her hands. She grinds and thrusts herself down on Adora’s face.

“Good,” she says, voice tight. “You’re doing amazing, Adora, keep going.”

Adora moans into her, heat curling up her belly into her entire body. The praise goes straight to her cunt, makes her weak in the knees and hot and slick in between her legs. Queen Angella’s pleased. Queen Angella’s thinks she’s doing amazing. That _must_ mean it’s true. Adora’s good. She’s doing good.

Noises keep escaping the queen. Gasps and sighs and bitten off words and full blown moans-- like she’s wound up with so much energy it _has_ to come out in some way. Her hands keep moving. She keeps stopping to bite at her fingers, her wrist, the side of her hand. Adora noses at her clit and the queen lets out a _cry_ that rings out in the vast, empty throne room. Adora’s insides feel hot and tight and squirmy and she has to stop for just a moment to pant before she dives back in with gusto, licking and sucking at her clit now. The queen shakes like she’s about to fall apart in her hands.

Adora looks up at her hazily, distractedly, heatedly. She’s beautiful. Her gorgeous hair is going messy with how much she’s running her hands through it and pulling at it, and there’s sheen of sweat that’s appearing, that sparkles in the light like a fine sheen of glitter or ocean water. Her mouth keeps shifting shape, the oh of a moan, the smile of someone who feels so good that they’re not sure they can take it.

Queen Angella notices her looking, and then her beautiful long fingered soft hands are back on her face, stroking her cheek and her brow and her hair and her neck.

“You’re so wonderful,” she says, her composed voice _wrecked,_ shaky and breathy, full of emotion, all for her. All because of her.

Adora puts a hand between her legs and grinds down on it desperately, squeezes her eyes shut tight because this is too much goodness for her to handle all at once.

She _has_ to open her eyes once Queen Angella starts coming, though. Her thighs go tight around her, her fine brow furrows, her neck arches towards the ceiling like a graceful, pale swan, and she _screams._

Adora is floored by it. Jerks her hips down onto her own hand instinctively as it curls up into her, all warm wet slippery heat.

“Adora,” she sighs as she comes down from her high, as she stops looking like she was just struck by thunder, every muscle taut with ecstasy, sinking back down onto her throne, soft and relaxed, limp and satisfied.

Adora makes a needy, desperate noise.

 _“Adora,”_ she purrs, her eyes still dark with desire, cheeks red, hair mussed. Her lips are bitten dark red. “Come here.”

She holds out her hands, and Adora hurriedly clambers up off the floor and onto the queen’s lap. Queen Angella’s delicate hands come around to steady her by the small of her back, and Adora shudders as she settles in close to the queen. Warmth and softness and the smell of sex and perfume, the queen’s face. Adora awkwardly rests her forearm on the queen’s slight shoulder, hand covered in her own slickness held away from her.

The queen closes the distance and kisses the breath out of Adora without hesitation. She kisses firmly, deeply. The word _ravished_ comes to mind. The only thing stopping Adora from toppling over and falling onto the floor is the queen’s hold on her, keeping her nice and close.

“You deserve a reward,” she breathes, voice throaty from her screams of pleasure. Adora’s going to be hearing that sentence in that voice in her dreams for the rest of her life.

“Please,” she gasps, and the queen slips one of her own hands into Adora’s pants. Adora has to clutch onto the queen’s shoulders as she softly cries out at the contact, eyes closed and head down. The temperature difference-- she’s so hot she’s bound to warm up the queen’s hands quickly.

Queen Angella curls her slim, long fingers into Adora gently, and Adora rocks down onto them with a low moan.

“Good girl,” Angella whispers in the close, warm space between them. Adora keens and rocks again. Angella trails kisses down Adora’s face and throat and collarbone, a hand back in her hair moving her about as she wishes. Adora _loves_ that, loves being pushed and tugged and being expected to move and stay just as Queen Angella desires, as is most convenient for her. She feels the sticky pull of the queen’s lipgloss as she kisses her overheated skin.

Her fingers are coaxing more wetness out of her, an unceasing rhythm reaching deep inside of her and trailing over all of the best places. Skilled fingers. She thumbs at Adora’s clit. She inhales sharply, jerks where she sits. She opens her eyes to see the queen smiling, all satisfaction.

“Are you ready to come, dear?” she asks.

“Only if you want me to,” she says, voice weak.

“I do,” she says, and kisses her. Adora melts into her and falls off the cliff. There’s a swooping feeling in her chest, stomach, groin, a dizzy gravity less implosion inside of her skull, like she really did just fall, is plummeting through the air, floating in water, breaching a surface. She has a distant feeling that she’s making some sort of long, ridiculous noise, but couldn’t close her mouth and shut up for the _life_ of her, not for anything. She only trails off once she loses all of the air in her lungs.

Queen Angella warmly kisses the base of her throat.

“You were so good for me,” she says, kind, so kind. The best leader Adora’s ever followed. The greatest. She’d do anything for her. She’d lick every single inch of her skin.

No great trial, that.

“Mmm,” she says, melting and limp and boneless in the queen’s lap, sprawled over her. That’s not very respectful of her, except the queen is stroking her neck and back, is digging her nails in deliciously. She feels warm and sleepy and at the same time not, like she could do this all over again. Either way. “Th’nk you. Thank.”

The queen chuckles. Adora loves the way she moves against her as she does it.

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” she asks.

Adora leaves the warmth of the queen to sit back just far enough to look her in the eyes, shedding her sleepy satisfaction for serious earnestness. “A soldier obeying her leader is what’s expected.”

Queen Angella tucks a stray lock of Adora’s hair behind her ear. With how much she was messing with her hair while they-- had sex-- it’s bound to be horrendously messy, not military protocol at all.

“Yes,” she says. “But you go above and beyond mere duty, Adora. You always have.”

And then she pulls Adora in close and kisses her again, and Adora doesn’t know how or why she’s meant to resist that, so she closes her eyes in delicious surrender and lets the Queen’s kind words and orders wash over her.

She finally has a leader that she knows won’t let her down.


End file.
